sermons
Air - Lent: A Spring Season
The Kin-dom of God is like….
Ivy Anthony
Apr 06, 2025
We are four weeks into Lent, a season observed by many Christian traditions and rooted in Jesus’ time in the wilderness. This season invites us to reflect on our own spiritual journeys, as much as it does Jesus’ experience of fasting and facing temptation. The wilderness was a period marked by chaos, uncertainty and also growth. Jesus was tempted by a vision of a kingdom built on power, wealth, and authority—values that contrasted the way of Jesus –and the kin-dom of God that he was trying to unfold. Instead of giving in to these temptations, Jesus drew close to God, to the wind, the Spirit, and the air— invisible forces that surrounded him in the wilderness and sustained him in desolate times.
This Lent, our theme has been Air—an ever-present force that shapes and sustains life in all its complexities. Just as air is essential for our breath, the Spirit, too, is essential for our spiritual well-being — wherever we might be at — and however we might be feeling. I love that Lent doesn’t shy away from the realities – the wildness– of our days. In fact, its boldness invites us to sit right in the gap—the “in-between” space—between the “now” of our lived experience here on this earth and the “not yet” of God’s dreams and our shared hopes for a world transformed by God’s Kin-dom.
Lent, in its stripped-down, unassuming bareness, invites us to pay attention to and carry the smallest of things — hope, wonder, awe, compassion — as much as we carry grief and fear.
Today, I want to invite us to not only get curious about where God is at work among us, but also to ask where we can get to work with God, who IS ALREADY among us. And I want to ask not just what our best chances at ‘heaven on earth’ are, but how we can leave nothing to chance and actively participate in shaping heaven on earth—here and now. Even when the air feels still, when change seems impossible, when it feels like the Spirit has gone silent.
In desolate times, how can we remember the truth that the Kin-dom is never far? How can we remember that it is around us, within us — never separate, always close?
I’ll invite you to hold these questions as we turn to the words of Romans 8 as a prayer this morning:
35 Who shall separate us from the love of Christ? Shall trouble or hardship or persecution or famine or nakedness or danger or sword?
36 As it is written:
“For your sake we face death all day long;
we are considered/treated as sheep to be slaughtered.”37 No, in all these things we are more than conquerors through him who loved us.
38 For I am convinced that neither death nor life, neither angels nor demons, neither the present nor the future, nor any powers,
39 neither height nor depth, nor anything else in all creation, will be able to separate us from the love of God that is in Christ Jesus our Lord.
Romans 8:35-39 (New International Version)
Amen.
This week I read Suleika Jaouad’s memoir (soo-lay-ka jew-wad), her husband is Jon Batiste. The title of her book is, “Between 2 Kingdoms — a Memoir of a Life Interrupted.” She reflects on living between the worlds of health and illness, navigating the emotional landscapes of two “kingdoms.” One kingdom is defined by normalcy, vibrancy, and health, while the other is shaped by survival, trauma, and the constant presence of sickness.
Throughout the memoir, Jaouad reflects on her experience and the tension she feels between these two worlds— In the midst of this, a friend shared a perspective that stuck with her, actually about travel, he said:
“When we travel, we actually take three trips. There’s the first trip of preparation and anticipation, packing and daydreaming. There’s the trip you’re actually on. And then, there’s the trip you remember. The key is to be present wherever you are right now.”
“Present to ‘what is’— It is a beautiful sentiment and also a challenging posture, especially when we hold within us the promise of heaven on Earth, but find ourselves in a reality that often feels and looks a lot more like hell.
As many of you know, cancer is part of my family’s and my story now as well. My husband, Scott, was recently diagnosed, but let me say the
“prognosis is good — the treatment plan is in action and after just 2 treatments, Scott’s feeling better than he has in years!”
There are likely lots of public speaking courses that would advise me to not talk about something so live, so raw, specific and personal like a cancer journey — but maybe it’s obvious — I haven’t taken any public speaking classes.
And the reality is – is that illness, in whatever form we encounter it—whether personal illness, the illness of a nation, or global—is a deeply universal experience.
A writer I admire, Susan Sontag, says,
‘Everyone who is born holds dual citizenship—in the kingdom of the well and the kingdom of the sick.’
Though we all prefer to carry the ‘good passport,’ sooner or later, we all find ourselves identifying with the other place. And now, with months of treatment ahead, Scott and I find ourselves holding that dual citizenship.
Throughout Lent we have been guided by a single line from a prayer written for times of great rupture and uncertainty:
“Be still and know that I am God.” (Psalm 46:10)
At community group a couple of weeks ago — we talked about ‘stillness’ —
“what is stillness to you? When have you been Still — what did it feel like? What did you encounter?”
I thought about those questions, and my experience in the cancer infusion clinic — discovering in part what stillness is not:
Stillness is not necessarily sitting, or achieving silence or free of discomfort.
Stillness is being present to what is — in between two kingdoms — perhaps even OPENING to the fullness of the tension that exists there.
And Stillness is in part about cultivating space within, space where even the smallest things can take root and create change. FOR ME, change comes in the tiniest shifts of perspective – enough so, to pivot away from the temptation of cynicism and despair, enough to not let heartbreak hijack my entire scope… small, small, shifts. Sure I’d love a BIG , efficient fix — half the time in the clinic, half the treatments — or how about no cancer at all… !
But the reality is — is that this is not our “now” —
Our “now” holds infusions of a chemo drug that in medical speak is called “the red devil” — AND it also holds an oven-like contraption that is full of stacks and stacks of warm blankets to use at our whim, views of Costco from the clinic window (which is literally Scott’s version of heaven on earth), fig newtons at the bottomless nurses snack station — perfect little ice cubes… is saturated with the littlest sparks of the presence and work of God.
I’ve had times where I thought “I should be still” — I was on a retreat in the Fall and I couldn’t quiet my racing heart. By day #2 my heart rate had actually climbed like waaayyy higher than it should be… And I was like,
“come on — you know how to do this retreat thing, this STILLNESS thing — CALM DOWN, just Breathe. . . just breathe.”
And yet my body didn’t respond in form — because my body was actually messaging something important to me — that the season of life leading up to that retreat was furious, fast and hard — and rather than “shushing” it into stillness — what my body actually needed was for me to give credence to where it was at. Health practitioners in that moment and since, have said the best thing to do is get in a cold shower, or do a plank for 1 minute. Your body needs to have the intensity be “seen and heard and met — acknowledged,” and then it can downshift a little bit. Meeting yourself in that tension—of longing to be in the serene/wellness/the kin-dom of God — while feeling the hard stuff—that too is stillness.
Sitting in a chemo room for 11 hours — isn’t a space to pretend “all is well.” It is an invitation to turn and face “what is.” Not turn away from it. To sit squarely in the ‘inbetween’ — “I wish this wasn’t what this is..” and also “I’m not alone — there are many, many people picking fig newtons from that snack bar too — and yes these seats are uncomfortable, but there is life and dignity here — and it’s there I can find and “know that God is God,” giving air to my own spirit — keeping me breathing in the GAP between the “now” and the “not yet.”
SCRIPTURE
Thankfully Jesus had a lot more to say about life on Earth than he did about theology. Rather than talking about loft ideas — which totally would have missed where most people were at — he talked about everyday things. There is hardly a divine truth that doesn’t take some shape on Earth. And most of us, I think, get what it is to live this real life on Earth.
Jesus’ parables reflect real life – and speak on multiple levels to multiple groups with the same words. Religious leaders, ordinary people, farmers, disciples — through them he invited people to begin imagining what the Kin-dom of Heaven could look like in their everyday lives – through the simple, the familiar, the tangible.
In the telling of parables Jesus says the Kin-dom of God is like a whole lot of things — wheat & weeds, yeast in dough, a hidden pearl, a seed — and seems to suggest that it is about right relationship, creating a community where all are seen as kin and kith. It’s a KIN-dom (rather than a KING-dom), growing from the smallest, least likely things into something inclusive and expansive.
Take, for example, the parable of the mustard seed:
Matthew 13:31-32
He told another parable to them: “The kingdom of heaven is like a mustard seed that someone took and planted in his field. It’s the smallest of all seeds. But when it’s grown, it’s the largest of all vegetable plants. It becomes a tree so that the birds in the sky come and nest in its branches.”
Maybe there’s not a whole lot new to say here — it’s pretty straightforward — something tiny can become something big. Big outcomes, transformation, big goals accomplished, big growth — a big KINGDOM …
And I think, while it’s tempting to focus on that lesson of the parable specifically, perhaps the deeper invitation is to recognize the growth and evolution that happens in the “gap” between. The cultivation and partnership — and the hardship — that happens before it becomes something big. This isn’t just about size; it’s about the life and flourishing that emerge through those small steps, the unseen process, and the shared work that occurs from many actors along the way. The Kin-dom of God isn’t simply about the end result but about the ongoing unfolding of love and life and relationships in our midst.
Ezekiel
We can see this same theme echoed in the Hebrew Scriptures, long before Jesus spoke his parables. In Ezekiel we see God’s kindom described not as the towering, imposing force many would expect, but as a tender shoot growing into something that offers shelter and life to many, something life-giving:
Ezekiel 17:22-24 (New International Version):
God says: I myself will take a shoot from the very top of a cedar and plant it; I will break off a tender sprig from its topmost shoots and plant it on a high and lofty mountain. On the mountain heights of Israel I will plant it; it will produce branches and bear fruit and become a splendid cedar. Birds of every kind will rest in the shade of its branches. All the trees of the forest will know that I the Lord bring down the tall tree and make the low tree grow tall. I dry up the green tree and make the dry tree flourish.
The Israelites here were in exile, far from the land of promise. Jerusalem and the Temple had been destroyed, leaving the people disillusioned and in grief. And the hope nestled in these verses details a dramatic reversal of the natural order: God brings down the mighty, proud kingdoms and causes the lowly to rise. Subverting and disrupting oppressive structures that appear unshakable and dominant, challenging the power dynamics that the world clings to.
God’s promise wasn’t for an earthly kingdom of power, ego, and success— but a kin-dom where new life could emerge from what seemed broken, bringing flourishing not just to Israel, but to all people. This is the kin-dom that Jesus came to proclaim: a kin-dom that grows even in the midst of hardship and pain.
The virtue for living in these “in-between” times is what Jesus calls “faith.” It’s about having the grace and freedom to live God’s dream for the world now, while not turning away from the world as it is. The secret of this Kin-dom life is learning to live in both worlds simultaneously.
(Richard Rohr 2020).
In light of this, I’m grateful for how Jesus gives us these simple, ordinary pictures of the kin-dom—seeds, trees, birds, and shoots –things the world often overlooks in favor of big goals and measurable success. Yet in the kin-dom, growth isn’t about mass or numbers — but about furthering life. Creating life, hosting life, holding life. For even just one bird, the tree becomes a source of hospitality, home, and sanctuary. This is what the kin-dom is like.
It can be hard for us to value that which depends on others for life and growth, and that which is not about controlling or dominating. But this is the kin-dom that Jesus invites us to help shape. It’s not something we’ll experience only someday, if we work hard enough and the evils of this day are overcome….It’s here in the middle of our ordinary lives — connected to other ordinary lives. A resource I love called “Enfleshed,” puts it this way, “The kin-dom is better thought of as the meal that feeds the weeping in the midst of grief”, rather than in an entirely different world. Jesus’ ordinary examples offer us hope now — for such a time as this.
Part of this Lent guide is meant to bring the ordinary to your experience as well. The accompanying imagery chosen of birds and feathers wasn’t just done so on a whim. I curated this guide sitting in MGH waiting rooms (I’m not trying to be a martyr here — they are called waiting rooms for a reason). But I sat with the words that Steve wrote in this guide, and the theme of AIR — and the reality of being in a hospital waiting room — we’ve all been there, right? Listening to snippets of stories, and diagnosis, and witnessing frustrations, and parking garage validations, phone calls to loved ones, and tender hand holding, and tears being blinked away — all of life, trying to unfold in that in-between space — Floating perhaps to transform, as Emily Dickinson said into “Hope” – the thing with feathers – that perches in our soul.
Birds — those who fly freely between the worlds — the heavens and this earth — remind us that the kind-om isn’t out of reach. Our vision is often limited by life’s harshness, tempting us, like Jesus in the wilderness, to seek control and quick fixes. But the bird’s-eye view offers a freer, broader perspective (John O’Donohue). These ordinary creatures remind us that the kin-dom is like a seed in our hand—its potential, right at our fingertips.
Emergent strategy
As we continue the work of creating and growing the kin-dom of God, it’s clear that SIGNIFICANT change is needed here and now. Adrienne Maree Brown’s work on Emergent Strategy (and her book by the same name), has been so helpful to me. While big movements and systemic changes are vital, what stands out in emergent strategy is the recognition that the powerful shifts we hope to see are made up of small, intentional, strategic actions that deviate from the dominant patterns of our times. Brown emphasizes that meaningful change doesn’t solely come from grand gestures or monumental shifts. It begins with small, deliberate acts—practices that align with our values and yet radically challenge and veer from the systems that govern us. The culture of emergent strategy critiques the capitalist, colonial legacies of our world.
Brown insists that we must begin to “shape change” rather than seeing ourselves as victims of change. Just this week we heard Senator Cory Booker say,
“I’m not going to allow my inability to do everything undermine my ability to do something.”
and then he fasted and spoke for 25 hours — (ok, maybe that’s not the best example of a small thing — because that’s pretty impressive), but just think of all the “small somethings” we can do together.
Amidst the challenges, there is a profound truth: the smallest sparks of hope can grow exponentially—planting seeds that inspire us to take action. We — you and me –“WE” — are very small actors in a world rife with COLOSSAL problems, spinning within a vast galaxy. But We the People carry the seeds for change and transformation. In this very moment, We the People are called to bring the Kin-dom of God to earth, nurturing a more perfect union, establishing justice, and promoting the general welfare, right where we are.
Brown says this
“is the central work of each generation: to SEED and expand the fields of possibility for those to come, weaving together the best practices and lessons from the generations that came before. In the face of narrowing options for human survival, it is our purpose to create more possibilities. Many of which will come from an evolution of how we are in relationship with each other and from an evolution of spirit.
Octavia Butler said,
“kindness eases change,”
OUR kindness to others in the gap of the “now” and the “not yet”, creates more possibilities for us to move forward together.
Jesus showed us how to live in that gap, over and over again. He embodied healing, sat with and spoke truth to, and lived among hurting people, broken cities, and oppressive systems—and STILL He saw the possibility for wholeness. What a wonder, what compassion.
To allow our astonishment, our wonder, and our compassion to fade is a privilege we cannot afford. (For many of us), it is a privilege to give in to despair, to abandon hope, to resign ourselves to the idea that the kin-dom of God will come—someday—when it is ours to shape today. The kindom of God’s love is here — around us, within us, between us – just waiting for our participation. Again, as
Romans 8 reminds us:
35 Who shall separate us from the love of Christ? Shall trouble or hardship or persecution or famine or nakedness or danger or sword?
37 No, in all these things we are more than conquerors through him who loved us.
38 For I am convinced that neither death nor life, neither angels nor demons, neither the present nor the future, nor any powers,
39 neither height nor depth, nor anything else in all creation, will be able to separate us from the love of God that is in Christ Jesus our Lord.
Prayer:
May the Spirit of God, like the air we breathe, continue to move us forward, helping us to live in the “now” and the “not yet”—toward a kin-dom that is already here and still to come.
Resources:
enfleshed.com
July 2020
Emergent Strategy: Shaping Change, Changing Worlds
Between Two Kingdoms: A Memoir of a Life Interrupted
by Suleika Jaouad | Mar 1, 2022